Long Hardship Poems
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Every time I look I see a different face,
As the media gathers pace,
In the influencing race.
No longer in the news business,
No longer bothering to clean up their mess,
No longer checking before going to press,
No longer thinking about mases to impress,
With no more mirrors in the place,
For the past to embrace,
It is now all about the modern face,
And it's influence on the race,
With few caring about the hardship investigative reporters face,
If they have too many facts to put in place.
It is only a matter of time before the media will have to face,
Up with a "we misjudged the mood of the public face",
With little chance of another "thanks for the award face",
With every chance of no "poker face",
As they will need a "change of heart face',
Before the music they have to face,
For undue influence on the outcome of the human race.
Oh how on earth did the media ,
Get such an idea,
That influencers would for them, be there,
When there were so many of us who could see what was living there,
That influencers are masters of what people want to hear,
And are more worried about how they look on air,
And how much money can be made from them being there,
Than how many facts they produce for us to hear.
I wonder how the media will respond to what is here,
How much influence I have to spare,
And how many new faces I will be shown this year.
Seems to me the more I age
My fondness for trees only grows
Their resilience and gracefulness
Their symmetry and beauty
Their arms outstretched heavenward
As if asking to be blessed with a nest for life
But it’s the way they bravely face each season
No fanfare just day by day
Making the most of their assets
Offered freely to all taking the time to appreciate
Every gnarly curve earned though hardship
Broken branch and injury
Radiant in the sun Solemn by moonlight
Valiant through the rainstorm
Resolute against snow and sleet
Naked… Buds… Foliage… Dried falling leaves
And naked again the cycle regenerates itself
Such is life on this beautiful planet
AP: 1st place 2022, 2nd place 2020, 3rd place 2024, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on August 29, 2018 for contest END AUGUST 2018 STANDARD sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Her husband had died bearing arms in a war zone
And left her to raise two boys on her own
It wouldn’t be easy with sweet Alessandro baby
Since relentlessly grueling was life in Italy
The last straw was a brutal earthquake
That left the village with naught but heartache
Mother’s tears were to know one more hardship
As Alessandro was bundled and boarded on a ship
Sent off to be raised by aunt and uncle in America
For a second chance with a new mama and papa
Of course Alessandro cried for his mother till blue
Also for the father he so barely knew
Felt callously abandoned, sadder than some melancholic dove
Would be years till he’d comprehend his mother’s act of love
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
The Cowboy bloke of yesteryear
Would work in mud and dust
He would tackle any hardship
As long as it was just
Out on the range from dawn to dusk
Rarely saddle sore
His butt was tough as leather
From calluses he wore
Had the same thing on his hands
Where red hot rope slid through
His courage part of legend
A guide for me and you
Very rarely got to town
Had a blow out when he did
Imbibing plenty rot gut
Then in the stable hid
Head out to the ranch next day
Full trust in his horse
Swear never go to town again
A short lived thought of course
They were the stuff of legend
But the same applies today
You could never live a better life
Than by the Cowboy way
Ever pass a street garden
On the lower East Side
You know the kind
Long and narrow
Squeezed between two tenements
Ever wonder how it came to be
Who made it?
Where did it come from?
Odds and ends
And garden tools clutter one corner
Benches are set aside
A children’s swing waits at the far end
The garden is not magnificent
Like the ones you see in suburbia
But like every garden in the City
It beckons to you with a history of its own
Take a long look
When you peer through the chain link fence
See the rows of growing green things
They didn’t happen by accident.
Grassroots activists fought to stop the decay of the lower East Side
Squatters took over abandoned houses
Theirs were marked by struggle
Hardship
And violence
They and kindred spirits captured the activism of the 70’s and 80’s
From Alphabet City
Running along Avenue A to Avenue D
They used terms
Everyone understood
Affordable apartments
Living spaces.
Neighborhood volunteers
Worked the soil
Hunched over
Hands black with dirt
Digging past bricks, rocks and rubble
Breaking up the ground
Feeling the moistness of the Earth
In their fingertips
Their whole being
Sensing the beginnings of new life.
When your heart beats
and mine no longer can,
I'll be flying into peace
into heavens open land
At the coming of dawn
as night's beauty falls away,
I'll take one last breath
looking forward into day
Gorging on the sight
as the sun begins to rise,
I'll remember all of life
through veils of all my sighs
I'll weep for could have beens
for the times I failed you all,
taking on the all sins of life
a saviours penance is my call
The gentle moments birth
when your eyes opened wide,
I felt the purest love of all
I had held you all close inside
As first steps began to run
and falls and tears fell free,
running with your arms out
you'd run to mummy, me
Loving you more than life
I was probably a little nuts,
protecting you with all I had
was finally showing guts
Then the slide into insanity
crept up and mauled my mind,
I hated what I had become
how could I be "that kind"
Somehow we made it through
the mantels of hardship and pain,
and going onto to live a life
I hardly could have dreamed
Given one last wish
I'd had to think awhile,
But after little pondering
I'd ask to see you smile
Watching you grow old
isn't in the God's plan,
my children stay a course
of the common man
I'd love to see your children
watch them walk the earth,
these babies I'll guard over
from moments of their birth
Dont be a little bit sad
dont think your missing me
how can you really miss
what's already halfway free
If there's a good wartime story worth telling and sharing:
this one should be told as it unfolds much sadness,
but amid disaster and hardship, hope was a light flickering
underneath those bomb-blackened, crumbling stones.
During World War II before the Allies landed
in Salerno, the city in Southern Italy,
my uncle was a prisoner of war in England...
an Italian was considered an enemy,
but Emma, the beautiful British woman, didn't see
it as a barrier and in that camp he treated him as a friend.
Was Emma moved by the pitiful look of a soldier
captured and brought to foggy England,
where the winds were as cold as the murky air;
didn't he dream of his distant motherland?
Needless to say compassion was found in Emma's heart
and her words brought much tenderness he never forgot,
" Soon this war will end and you'll breathe the crisp air of spring:
when a mockingbird's song will remind you of this far-away friend! "
The death winter came and was cold
With white on the purple mountain
The Tiwahe’, the Standing Rock People
Begged for warm fires from Iktinie the Sun Spirit
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
Iya’ the Snow Monster had taken us farther to the south
To follow Capa the Beaver Spirit
A long journey into early winter’s night
For there was much labor to keep warm in our Thipi’
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
When Iwoblu the Winter Storm whispered his cold story
To the Aicita, the Ghost Messenger
She tricked Mathohota the Grizzly Spirit with her wailing
To haunt the sky with growling winds
The Wahupakoza escaped on icy feathers
Stirring the winds with their flight of fears
And within the SunOthi’ earth dens, the wolves
Sungmanitu’ howled with their starvation
The stone figured buffalo,Wankan Tanka’s blood was cursed
With ice and their coats were bitten with Heyumka
Mothers were caged in the hard frost, while their calves fell and died
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
Gleska Wowayazan, the spotted sickness, harvested our souls
We were prisoners of Wichat A’ the sickness that takes all
Our boldest warriors, Zuya Whichsa’ were taken from us
To follow the Wanagi’, the spirit of departed human beings
Far to the Milky Way to stand before Hihankara’ the judge of souls
We mourned and chanted for the loss of our children Wasigla’!
And the People of Standing Rock wept AcheyA’ in dreams
Of earth warmth and filled bellies of mothers and children
Our mouths were hungry and bodies were weak
It was the last winter of the ghost road
I am White Buffalo Calf Woman,
I am the keeper of words and I tell you now so that you will know
Edited reposted
April 27, 2022
Theme: Life
A scant twenty years
grieved a century or more
Poetically perfect
in spirit and lore
A man and his horse
alone on the range
The cattle his instrument
and music to play
Civil War veterans and blacks
from the South
Through dust and dark clouds
even blizzards they mount
Together they battled
in concert they fought
Each unto himself
through prairies uncrossed
The hardship and death
to him worth the price
Pushing always ahead
a stranger to fright
The only thing branded
to be left at the end
Was the legend he gave us
— and the message it sends
(Cowboy Poetry Gathering: Elko Nevada, February, 2017)
visionary
God made men
yet God chose a man
visionary
God made the world
so when I walk my
ways in life I free my
mind from fears
yet I fear God
visionary
God is eternal
so I don't worry
when I will die
cos my reincarnation
proves Gods eternity
visionary
God is protective
so he never let the innocent
down since its origin
not even now
so when I walk through
the valleys of hardship
I sure know it just but
only for a while
visionary
God is the light of life
still I sight the world
in darkness
living in a bondage
which is not natural
but a nemesis from
ignorance
still humans glorify evil
even in their pains just to
keep the legacy
of an evil genius alive
despite the dark reality
it bleeds to humanity
visionary
no one is perfect
no even a visionary
yet what is good is good
and wisdom is never for
the ignorant
so when I walk in my
ways always
I pray vanity never be end
at the end of my destination
God help my soul